


Diet Soda Society

by Setkia



Series: it's okay to not be okay [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Being Idiots, Established Relationship, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Wade's POV, Wade's Voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 08:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16364459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: "Have you ever noticed how that cloud looks a bit like a rabbit eating its own foot?”May the fanfic gods help him, he’s in love with this man.





	Diet Soda Society

****_The bloody unknown_  
_My every fear in essence_  
_This neurotic head makes me believe danger is omnipresent_  
_And all the crazies talk about how it’s gonna end_  
_I sit worried sick because I’m starting to believe them_  
_And I’ve got an ugly little feeling    
_ _The brain is a funny place_

—The Maine, [_Diet Soda Society_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjrGnbdiEtU)

 _  
_ He’s late.

He’s fucking late for a very important date, _literally_. Because Petey Parker has decided that little ol’ fucked up Wade Wilson is worth his time and every minute he’s not there, he’s giving Pete more and more reasons to dump his stupid ass before this whole thing even gets started. And he could’ve said he was off doing hero stuff (except he can’t really call what he does heroic), but it’s not, it’s fucking _traffic_ , which is possibly the most mundane excuse that could possibly exist.

He’s all dressed up too. Well, sort of. He’s ditched the suit, though he’s wearing more layers than are recommended for the heat. Gotta cover up that skin though, make him work for it, ammirite? Not that there’s much to look at.

_It’s too early to get depressing._

If he stops to think about it too much, he looks stupid. He’s a grown-ass man ( **debatable** ) wearing baggy pants and combat boots, and a red hoodie (because he looks damn good in red, and also, because in case he had to unalive someone before this shindig, he didn’t want it to show) with the hood pulled over a snapback, which were so last … whenever those were popular. And then there’s the mask.

He looks like a serial killer. Which, granted, he _is_ , but it’s okay if he gets caught. It’s not like he can ruin his reputation any more than it is, and— oh dear, Peter’s going to be ruined just by association. He considers telling the cabbie ( **what are we, in Britain?** ) to turn back around. He’ll strangle him in some alleyway, it’s not like they could lift prints off his burnt-ass fingers, but then he gets a text.

_Take your time._

Okay. He can do this.

_Breathe Wilson._

If some magazine saw him, would they put him on that page that was like “celebrities: down to earth or diva?”, or the “stars are just like you!” page. As if anyone would put his ugly mug on a spread. Maybe the “Keeping up with ugly freaks of nature”.

Looking out the window, there’s a sea of cars.

_Fuck this._

Wade throws the appropriate amount of money at the taxi driver, maybe a bit more.

“Give me back my change, not now though, I gotta get going, but I will know if you don’t pay me back,” he warns, before he opens the door into traffic and runs over the cars like he’s in some kind of third act of an 80s romcom.

 _She’s All That_ wasn’t all that bad, no matter what the critics say. He definitely played an unhealthy amount of hacky sack, and it may have gotten him laid once or twice.

He finds the appropriate coffee shop and practically cartwheels through the door, which, now that he thinks about it, was a bit much, especially because the woman at the cash is looking at him like he belongs in a mental institution.

**Oh, you don’t even know half of it.**

Peter Parker hands the stunned cashier his money and then it’s as if Wade’s being guided out of the coffee shop as though this is totally normal and no one is confused (Wade included).

When the bell announces their departure, Wade opens his mouth to ask _what the fuck just happened_ when Peter bursts out laughing and Wade learns a little known fact about the scientist.

Peter Parker laughs like a madman. Not in the head tossed back, holding your stomach laughter with the occasional snorting sound, which _does_ happen, and it’s totally adorable. It’s not even one of those _I must lean on something because my knees can’t support me_ kind of laugh. It’s a genuine _my knees have actually buckled so I’m starting to turn into goo on the floor_ kind of laugh, and his body convulses like he’s having a seizure, and his chest vibrates with the noise and Wade is smiling, looking at the dork that is Peter Parker on the ground, laughing his head off like he’s about to scream _It’s alive!_ and everything is perfect.

**Which means this can’t be real.**

Wade frowns slightly. He doesn’t want to think of it like that, because can’t he have _one nice thing_? So he pushes the thought aside and waits for Peter to get a hold of himself.

When he does, the brunet coughs into his fist sheepishly. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s just, the look on their faces?” He giggles. “Anyway, I was thinking we’d do something different from just getting coffee. You wouldn’t be able to sit in a booth for too long anyway, right?”

“I—”

**Admit it. You would die if you had to stay still for more than half an hour. Doesn’t matter what kind of company you’d have.**

“I mean, yes.”

“Hey, it’s not a problem,” says Peter. “More fun for me, anyway. I don’t know how you like your coffee though, so I didn’t get you any. Didn’t want to chance fucking it up.” It feels weird to see such an innocent face say such vulgar words. Wade likes it. “But a little birdie told me you like chimichangas, so …” He pulls out a brown paper bag from his schoolbag and shakes it. “Figured I’d stop by and get you some.”

“Are you an angel?”

Peter laughs. Wade is quickly getting addicted to that sound. “Hardly. But I figured we could walk and talk, we can multi-task.”

“Talk about what?”

“Anything. Everything.” Peter shrugs. “Whatever you want to talk about. Get to know each other, with less blood involved.”

_This sounds more like a hangout than a date—_

“Oh no, dude, I’m still totally into you.” Peter takes a sip of his coffee and almost herds Wade in a certain direction, down the sidewalk and past a few intersections. “I just figured we should be friends first, yeah? Besides, you look like someone who could unload.”

_Don’t—_

**Oh, I’ll unload on you baby boy. Just tell me where you want it.**

_—There it is._

**Whoop! C’mon, it was too prefect to pass up.**

_Ugh, I hate that you’re right._

“So this _is_ a date?”

“Uh, yeah.” The scientist plays with the glasses on the bridge fo his nose and frowns. “I mean. If you want it to be.”

_Oh hell yes, we want._

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

They fall into silence, though not true silence. The Voices don’t know how to be silent. And New York doesn’t know how to be quiet. So really, it’s just them not talking to each other for a while, and then—

“So there’s this guy in my stats class—”

“I had this job down in Mexico—”

The two freeze.

“You can go first.”

“Nah, you go first.”

**Are we twelve now?**

“I doubt you want to know about the whole … job thing, I do. Tell me about this guy in your stats class. Is he as impressive as I am?”

Peter frowns.

_Oh no, don’t do that! You look adorable that way, but don’t do that!_

“You can tell me anything you want, Wade. You don’t have to censor around me. I’m young, but I’m not a child. I told you, I know what you do. You’re a merc, you kill people. I’m okay with that.”

Wade raises an eyebrow, though it doesn’t exist and wouldn’t be able to be seen through the suit.

“Okay, well, no, I’m not. Morally, it’s wrong. I don’t think it’s good, but I mean, you don’t intentionally kill _good_ people. And it’s your job, but it doesn’t _define_ you. Do you think Death likes their job?”

**Well on some days, yeah, she does.**

But Wade doesn’t say that. He shrugs. “You asked.”

So he tells Peter about the perp he chased across the Mexican boarder, who finally took her last breath in Peru. It had been some weird mafia boss, from one of the old families, or rather, who got mixed up in the old families. She had wanted to start her own empire, which is never a good idea in this day and age.

“Should’ve invested in Bitcoin,” Wade finishes with a shrug. “Though, with how fickle the market is, you never know what you’re gonna get.”

“S’like a box of chocolates,” says Peter and Wade could _kiss him_ but he doesn’t because he’s just told a fairly gruesome story about a woman who had her left lung punctured and whose shoulder probably has teeth marks in it, which almost makes it sound like he got up to some nasty business up in her business, without even flinching, and the wind is ruffling the student’s hair and this is all too perfect, so it can’t be real.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Well, now the guy in stats’ who tried to snort coffee beans is much less interesting in comparison.”

Wade asks if the guy succeeded, because everything Peter tells him is interesting and he loves the sound of his voice. It almost sounds familiar to him, how soothing it is.

They end up near Central Park, because “we can’t skip _all_ the clichés,” and take a seat on a park bench, watching some pigeons fight each other for some discarded Mars wrapper.

He doesn’t touch Peter. He _can’t_ touch him.

Because Peter isn’t _real_.

Though he has to congratulate his imagination because this is a new kind of metaphysical torture scheme the boxes have cooked up because sitting next to him on this bench with the peeling paint _feels_ real.

It took a long time to coordinate this, almost two weeks since the initial request, which Wade is still pretty sure he made up. His schedule never syncs up well with the university student’s because _of course it fucking doesn’t, he’s a mercenary, not some normal ass man with a nine to five job._

“Hey, you alright?”

“Huh?”

“You seem lost in your head.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot. It’s a big place,” says the mutant with a shrug. “Can’t always be using this mouth to talk.” He gazes at the pigeon he has named Roberto in his head. He appears to be winning the ever-going battle for the sugary treat.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about. Grown up stuff.”

Peter does not look impressed. Neither is Wade, to be honest.

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t talk down like that.” He takes another sip of his coffee and tilts his head up towards the sky, looking at the clouds. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool and all. By the way, have you ever noticed how that cloud looks a bit like a rabbit eating its own foot?”

May the fanfic gods help him, he’s in love with this man.

“Really?” Wade looks up at where Peter’s gesturing. “I always thought it was more like a submarine that’s gotten the Michael Bay treatment and is trying to self-destruct.”

The brunet tilts his head. “Oh, I see it now! What about that one? Seems like a binicorn with skates on.”

“Like for the pavement, or ice?”

“Does it matter?”

“It always matters.”

The student wrinkles his nose in thought. “Ice. Definitely ice.”

They go on like that, cloud watching, pointing out the shapes in the sky. ( _“I’m telling you Wade, that one is totally a Rodent of Unusual Size,” “and I’m telling_ you _, Petey, it’s what shape Dean Winchester’s car would take if it became an animal”)._ By the end of it, Wade’s eaten his whole chimichanga, Peter’s finished his cup of coffee and they’ve moved from the bench to the grass.

It’s almost as if the universe is smiling down on them, without any screams of terror or immediate threats on their lives, they’re free to discuss the homo-erotic undertones of _Star Trek_ to their heart’s content.

“Look, I’m not saying the reboot isn’t gay, it is. But the original series was a thousand times gayer.”

“But when Nimoy shows up in the cave, he like, literally tells Kirk that he and Spock’s friendship transcends dimensions, timelines, and universes. You don’t get much gayer than that.”

“May I present to you _Amok Time_? The canonical, _original_ fuck or die trope with a little alpha/omega dynamics thrown in for good measure?”

Peter turns to him, the blades of grass brushing against his face. He’s smiling, and it’s blinding. **This is where a cheesy author mentions something about Icarus.** “You’re insane, Wade Wilson.”

“I get that a lot.”

Suddenly, Peter’s phone rings, because of course it rings. Why would Wade continue to get this wonderful treatment? It’s probably reality coming to smack some sense into the boy.

“Hey, Wade, I’ve gotta go,” says Peter and fuck him, he sounds like he’s actually sad to leave. “But raincheck?”

“Sure,” Wade says, though he doubts it. This is just science-boy being nice to him, which is, you know, _nice_ , but still hurts all the same. He’s got a few bullets with his name on them, though he had been hoping he wouldn’t need them.

“Right. So I’m just going to go …” Peter bites his lip, frowning. “Can I … uh …” He reaches outwards, as if to touch Wade, as if he can, as if he isn’t the sweetest torture created by his mind to date. _Heh. To date._ “Could I … _may_ I kiss … you?”

There’s definitely something wrong with how much it turns him on that Peter knows the difference between “can” and “may”.

Well, it appears he’s in _super deep_ this special hellhole. He _knows_ it’s a dream, because why else would Petey want any of _this_ disaster?

He nods, and Peter reaches out with his hands and then his fingers are brushing the sides of his mask, and it _feels so real_ , Wade leans into the touch. The beautiful fingers of the scientist stop at the end of his mask. “Can I …? Just a little,” Peter says. “I just want to …” He blushes. “Erm, we don’t have to, it’s just date number one, so …”

If this is the most convincing illusion the Voices can work up for him, he’ll be damned if he lets his insecurities get the best of him, and ruin a chance to kiss the beautiful boy.

“Okay.”

It’s torturous, the way the mask slowly rolls upwards, catching on scars. The merc holds in a wince several times as it goes over the rough texture of his skin, but Peter is slow and patient. He doesn’t flinch at the scars and blemishes, or the strange dermis that is Wade’s complexion. He lifts the mask up slowly till Wade’s upper lip, keeping as much concealed as possible before he lifts himself up on his toes, and their lips meet.

**Bow chicawow— ow!**

_Don’t ruin this._

Wade stays as still as a rock, and he wishes he could feel Peter better, but his sensory nerves are fucked up, but he can feel his breath so close to him and the pressure is the most gentle touch he’s ever received. Everything has always been rough and hard with Wade, this is gentle, innocent. Peter’s hands frame the side of his mask, his body teeters forward, his Chuck Taylor sneakers much better than any Cinderella shoe, and when he goes back down to his regular height of three inches shorter than Wade, the Merc with a Mouth has no words.

Peter bites his lip, the lip that touched Wade’s, and looks down, blushing furiously. “I uh …” He coughs into his sleeve. “I really should get going.” He reaches up and his hands carefully pull the mask back down, covering the scarred face of the ex-military man. “I had a good time though. I’d be down for a date two, if you … y’a know … if you’d be interested.”

_Answer him, idiot!_

“ _Oui_. I mean, yes. _Sì_. 10/10, would date again.”

Peter chuckles, and it’s not that mad, crazy laugh, more of a subdued laugh that makes Wade wonder what he has to do to get the boy to cackle again. “Alright. I really do have to leave though now, so I’ll text you. See when you’re next available. And try not to break the phone again, alright?”

“Wasn’t my fault.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

And he sounds like he means it.

When Wade gets back to his apartment with the blood stains on the walls, and the katanas on display and the bullets on the kitchen table, he pulls his gun from beneath his pillow and checks the barrel.

Laying on his bed, he shoots three times around the blood on the white wall.

Looks like a fucked up smiley face.

Even if Peter _is_ an illusion, he’s the most convincing hallucination. He’ll gladly live in his mind if he can get another one of Peter Parker’s beautiful kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you guys tell I like this band?


End file.
